


Fireside

by athena_crikey



Series: Sleeper, Slayer, Scholar [3]
Category: Castlevania (Cartoon)
Genre: Attraction, Drama, Multi, Nakedness, Team-fic, Trevor can't make up his mind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2019-02-22 20:40:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13174788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/athena_crikey/pseuds/athena_crikey
Summary: After being fished out of a frigid river by Adrian and Sypha, Trevor discovers he is less inscrutable than he thought.





	Fireside

**Author's Note:**

> Alucard clearly has no problems crossing running water in Symphony of the Night, so I'm going with it.

The sun is beginning to set as they approach the river, the dying light casting long shadows along the rocky bank. The three of them stop there, looking at the rushing water below. The bridge to the opposite side has been burned, charred timbers caught amid the river rocks, one long trailing line of hemp weaving downstream like a snake. 

In the week since the arrival of the night hordes, the citizens of Wallachia – those who remain – have grown fierce and strategic in the fight to protect their lives. Homes have been barricaded, villages reinforced with trenches and pikes. Bridges, like this one, hacked and burnt to pieces. Anything to stop the relentless advance of the demons. 

It makes travel across the bloody landscape all the more challenging.

A little ways downstream a tall oak stands on the far side of the river – the distance between shores is a little less than ten yards, Trevor estimates, eyeing the gap. The rivers run deep with snowmelt this time of year, white waves crashing over boulders that could easily grind a man’s bones to meal. 

For two of the group, the river presents no barrier. Both Sypha and Adrian have their magic, a key that opens the door to flight, at least for a brief period. Still Trevor, although heavier and with no magic of his own, has never felt grounded. 

They stop across the river from the oak, its massive branches stretching across the river, the longest of them reaching nearly halfway over the water. In a brief shimmer a large bat replaces Adrian’s lithe form; with a flutter of dark wings it streaks across to the other side where after a moment Adrian reappears, resting his weight nonchalantly on cocked hips. 

Sypha backs up, takes a run at it and leaps; a sharp blast of wind rises from nowhere, whipping blades of grass about beneath her. She soars over the river, arms outstretched like a child imitating a bird – only there is no imitation here. She lands lightly on the far side of the river and the wind disappears as quickly as it came, leaving her to brush her hair lightly with one hand and turn to raise an eyebrow daringly at Trevor. 

Trevor too backs up – not as far as Sypha, but far enough to get a running start. His whip flashes out as he leaps out over the water, its tip seeking out the nearest tree branch with unerring accuracy and wrapping about it. Then he is swinging, passing over the rushing water as he comes under the branch to which the whip is secured.

The branch cracks. Then, as Trevor winces, it snaps. 

He hits the water back-first. The shock of it is like falling onto stone from a significant height: he is suddenly immersed in the water and it is freezing. For a moment he lies unmoving, river already carrying him downstream. Then his ankle cracks against a stone and he pulls himself together and strikes up towards the surface. 

Trevor can swim in the manner that most non-marine animals can: by paddling in a straight line and hoping the relentless movement will keep him afloat. His heavy cloak chokes him as the water fills the wool and drags at his neck; he reaches up and wrenches it free, feels it tear away from his fingers to disappear into the fierce water. His boots are impeding his desperate attempts to swim, but there’s no fixing that, not in the heart of the intense fight for survival. His sword he draws from its scabbard and tosses into the water; it’s nothing but a pathetic replacement stolen from a smithy on the outskirts of Gresit. 

Without warning he’s slammed into a boulder and the air is crushed from his lungs, leaving him hacking and gasping as he tries to find the strength to recover. As he tumbles through the violent surging water something grasps his shoulder. He tries to elbow it and it growls. 

A wolf. There’s a bloody great wolf dragging him by the arm towards the shore. 

Only after a moment does he realise it can only be Adrian, the vampire swimming alongside him in the river. He tries to propel himself in the direction it’s moving, to kick out towards the shore. It feels like there’s a metal hook in his arm pulling him forward, inexorably. 

A moment later his frantically kicking foot encounters the bed of the river. Another few kicks and he touches ground again, then again and again. Still struggling against the pounding water, he starts to walk out of the river. The wolf lets go of his shoulder and swims easily into the shallows where it walks out and shakes itself off several times, long red tongue lolling out past fearsome-looking teeth.

Trevor drags himself onto the shore feeling like there are lead weights tied to his chest and limbs; he makes it just onto the rocks above the waterline before he collapses, body beaten and frozen by the river’s violence. 

The single thought in his head is: cold. He has never been this cold, not in the dead of winter, not sleeping drunk on cobblestones at midnight, not after feeling the touch of a Frozen Shard. He is frozen from the inside out, not a trace of warmth left in his body. He slips down towards the ground, too exhausted to stand. 

A hand grabs his arm, pulling him upward. He looks up with his eyes alone and sees Adrian standing impassive at his side, his long coat damp and his hair limp. “You can’t sleep here,” he says. “Come on.”

Sypha is up ahead, pointing. “We passed this way two years ago. There are homesteads a little ways to the north.”

Adrian looks, eyes narrowing until only a sliver of hawk-gold remains, then looks down to Trevor. “Then we go there.” 

Trevor tries to pull his feet up under him, but his body isn’t having any of it. His muscles have packed it in, too exhausted even to shiver. After a moment Adrian sighs, then hoists him higher, throwing Trevor’s arm over his narrow shoulders and pulling him bodily forward. Despite being half Trevor’s weight, he shows no sign of strain. 

And so, with Sypha leading the way, they start walking.

  
***

Trevor later doesn’t remember much of the hellish trip. He’s numb all over and it seems to have leeched into his brain, slowing down his thoughts. He does remember the scent of Adrian’s skin – a clean, musky smell, with a hint of spice to it. By the end of the journey his head is resting on the vampire’s shoulder, his nose rubbing against the damp fabric of Adrian’s coat.

If Adrian dislikes Trevor nuzzling at him, he says nothing of it. 

He is hazily aware of arriving, of Sypha blowing the locked door open with a gust of wind to let out a cloud of dust and a damp mouldering smell; the tiny cabin has not been aired out in some time. Adrian drops him unceremoniously on the floor and sets about building a fire in the wide grate while Sypha bustles around in the dark with movements Trevor’s dimmed sight can’t follow. 

He curls up and puts his head down.

  
***

Trevor floats in and out of consciousness, picking up on scents and feelings more than thoughts and ideas. He slowly grows less cold, pressed up against something warm that melts the ice from under his skin and unfreezes his bones. There’s a soft, sweet scent of honey and jasmine; smells that remind him of his home – of the grand house and its beautiful garden, in the days before the Church brought down its judgement on them. He snuggles closer, tucking his nose into something smooth and silken that trembles as he nears it.

In the background there’s a soft crackling noise, something steady and reassuring. 

Here he feels safe, feels at peace.

He closes his eyes and sleeps.

  
***

Sometime later he truly wakes. He feels exhausted and groggy, but no longer cold. As he lies stilly, he slowly gains an understanding of his surroundings. He’s lying on a straw mattress on a dirt floor, the scent of the earth intermingled with the smoky smell of a burning fire; he can hear the flames crackling behind his head, feel their warmth against his back. He’s lying on his side, half-curled in on himself like a child. Something beside him moves, accompanied by a soft rustle of straw.

Trevor opens his eyes, blinking several times in the dim firelight. He’s in a small wooden cottage, with just a table and a pair of stools shoved in the corner to act as furniture. His clothes are draped over the table, the legs of his trousers and arms of his shirt hanging in the empty space between the table and the floor. 

He’s far more interested, however, in the pale form sitting beside him. 

His eyes trace down the long curved line of a naked spine, interrupted partway by a wrap of cotton, and ending in a nest of blankets crossed over round hips. A halo of red-gold hair shines in the firelight, glowing warmly above slim shoulders. Sypha turns a fraction of an inch, revealing the smooth line of her cheekbone and the curve of her jaw; there’s a delicate beauty to them that make something catch in Trevor’s heart. 

He closes his eyes and tries to wish himself asleep. 

It is a long time in coming.

  
***

When he wakes later it is even darker than before, although the fire is still crackling behind him. He can hear the steady sounds of Sypha breathing beside him, can feel her warm heat against his skin. She’s asleep this time, thank God; he doesn’t feel himself enough to cope with her now.

For the first time he dares to peer below the blankets covering them both; he is naked, while she wears her small clothes. There is still an immense expanse of pale skin – his eyes track the smooth curve of her stomach, the roundness of her hip, the unguessed swell of her breasts – before a low cough turns his attention elsewhere.

Trevor looks around to see Adrian sitting on a stool, looking calm and collected as a monarch in his own throne room. 

With the aplomb of a man who has been kicked in the bollocks in more bar fights than he cares to count and still come out on top, Trevor rises – swaying momentarily – and crosses the floor to his clothes. His ankle aches, but there’s no sharp pain or throbbing, so he ignores it. 

“She was worried about you,” says Adrian, soundly coldly curious.

Trevor pulls on his trousers; his side protests at the stretch, and when he looks down he can see a large black-and-blue bruise painted across his ribs. 

“But you weren’t?” he returns, glancing over his shoulder. 

Adrian shrugs smoothly. “I have seen enough dying men to recognize the look; the danger was not severe.”

“Explains why you weren’t in there under the covers, then.” He pulls his tunic over his head, stretching his abs and feeling their tiredness. Right now, he’s not fit for much; their journey may have to wait a day. 

“My body generates no heat; I would have been of no use – save perhaps chaperone,” he adds dryly. 

Trevor looks up sharply. 

“I hear the way your heart speeds when you look at her,” says the vampire, eyes slanting down towards the sleeping Sypha, then back up to Trevor. He stands in one smooth movement and steps around the table. Reaching out, he lays a long slim hand on Trevor’s cheek, turning Trevor’s face to stare straight into his eyes. “The same way it speeds when you look at me. Which of us will you choose, I wonder.”

Trevor pushes his hand away. “It’s not about choice. We’re stepping into a battle that will probably kill all of us. Why bother thinking beyond it?” 

“Ever the pessimist,” remarks Adrian. “Have you not learned by now that human life is about finding what joy you can? It is a brief candle – regardless of circumstance.”

Trevor wonders suddenly what a vampire – eternally young, eternally beautiful, and eternally alone – must think of the humans that beat about the edges of his world like mayflies. Obviously there is time enough for attraction, for love – it’s not for nought that Dracula has set the world aflame. 

“Some irony – a vampire telling a human how to live his life.”

“My mother was human,” replies Adrian. “I know something of it.”

There is little he can say to that. She, like the brief candle her son described, is nothing more than ashes now. 

From the floor behind them there’s a quiet rustling. Trevor looks over to see Sypha sitting up, her hair a bird’s nest complete with wisps of straw. She stretches, arms overhead – he had always thought the Speakers to be modest, but she shows no concern for his gaze on her half-naked form. Even with cotton wrappings binding her chest, there is little hidden. 

Trevor feels his heart beat quicker; it beats quicker still when he realises Adrian can hear it. 

On her bed of straw, Sypha cocks her head at him. “What?”

He turns away, making a task of doing up his belt. “Nothing.”

“How long has he been awake?” Sypha asks of Adrian. The vampire picks her clothes up from where they are neatly folded on the back of the table and strolls across the tiny room with them. 

“Only a few minutes.”

Sypha takes the clothes from him, immediately wriggling into a long tunic. “He looks better.”

“Indeed.”

“I _am_ right here,” Trevor reminds them. He has the sudden uncomfortable realisation that they spent a fair amount of time together, just the two of them and his unconscious naked body. 

Sypha comes over to pat him on his uninjured shoulder, as though giving a sop to a child. “Do not worry; we could never forget it.”

“Very true,” agrees Adrian solicitously, but the gleam in his eye makes Trevor wonder about his intentions. Further still, it makes him wonder what the future holds for the three of them.


End file.
